Richard Pierce

Richard Pierce – author, poet, painter

Life, Writing

Day 92

Interesting stat – less people read my polemic than read my retelling of my life. That either means I’m a dreadful politician and a wonderful person, or that I write bad polemic but great autobiography. Either way, it’s revealing. I’m sure that I could twist and turn the stats even more, that I could look at different things for different days, but I’m not into analysis of numbers; I have done enough of that in past jobs, and present.

There’s a rattle on my desk as I type. I thought reorganising my desk would put paid to that. This is something that needs investigating. I just have, and my screen was standing on its cables and shaking as I write. So that’s solved, but the printer is rattling as well, so I’ll need to find something to stop that. It may sound like dreary details, but I need solid impact without reverberation so I don’t get distracted. A tiny spider just crawled out from under the printer. I’m sure it wasn’t causing the rattle, but I’ve had to evict it anyway, because something exploring my desk is just as off-putting as the rattle. HSP stuff again, I guess. I always find it odd that I’m very chaotic in most things but need great order in others.

April has bloomed with vengeful frost and hail and snow. The rhubarb looks decimated, and the daffodils are bowing their heads. The forecast is dreary and freezing. At least today looks like it might be sunny, if freezing. I thrive on light. Norway and the Antarctic, with their long summer days (Norway hot, Antarctic cold) were perfect for me, although the Antarctic summer is now much warmer than it was when I was there 14 years ago. Which is why one of the projects I need to get on with is the final part of the Antarctic trilogy that started with Dead Men, and continued with Ice Child (not yet published), because, for me, it’s important to tell the full story of how climate change is destroying the planet, as well as giving a complete narrative to the characters whose lives I started to share when I started Dead MenFalcon’s Wings, on the other hand, the YA version of Dead Men I wrote, is a self-contained piece. I am very tempted to release that into the wild, but I need to check out the copyright position first, which seems rather less urgent than actually writing new material, to be honest.

I have to admit that having had a bad back for most of this week of holiday has probably been good for me, because I have done nothing but read and write and walk slowly. I’ve had to consciously relax, and it’s actually been really rewarding to just be a husband and father and writer rather than all those and having a “proper” day job as well. I will miss this unconscious focus, this fulfilment of my forever dream when I go back to work on Monday, and already know that there will be well over 100 urgent work emails waiting for me. That’s the reality of my existence, and I’m one of the lucky few who actually really love their day job. But I love writing more. And there’s nothing wrong with that.




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